


Shitty Prompts to Traumatize my Coworkers

by Xibalban_horror



Category: Various Fandoms - Fandom
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 13:07:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30123228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xibalban_horror/pseuds/Xibalban_horror





	1. Chapter 1

Prompt One: Shiny Rock

*laughs in being a horrible ~~human~~ being*

This will be awful. I have been specifically instructed to write the weirdest, worst, most horrific thing I can.

Now, I had several things in mind for this one. A whole bunch of different plotlines, a whole bunch of different traumas. However, I've been asked to write the worst plotline I possibly can. Therefore, I've gone with plotline #3.

It was dark. Cold, freezing even. Harder than most rock and metal. And yet it moved, sinuous and liquid. Alive wasn't the right word for it. It was intelligent, cruelly cunning and horribly precise. It knew just what to do, just how to move, to drive its prey right into its talons. It was by complete accident that it had been found, and cruel chance that it had consequently been awakened. 

Down here, nobody could hear your screams, and nobody cared even if they did. You weren't in your home anymore, weren't in the safety of your room with a safeword readied to tap out at any time, without guilt. Down here you were a plaything. You were tossed about and manhandled by a creature that clearly cared for nothing other than itself. You were prey, and not in the kinky bedroom manner you were used to.

It was freezing against you, your muscles recoiling instinctively and only serving to make you thrash in its grasp. Bruises flowered all over you, harsh purple and blue covering up blotchy red where the skin had broken. You were certain you had bruises inside of you, blood pooling under the skin and muscle from where vessels had burst. There was a fancy word for it, but you couldn't remember that right now.

All you knew was the cold of this creature surrounding you, filling you, muscles stretched beyond what should be natural. Pain wasn't something new to you and yet each twitching shift of your sensitive nerves in futile attempts to escape the cold brought red-hot flashes that by far outweighed anything you'd ever felt before. You were sobbing like a babe, flinching at every change in angle.

At first this had been fun. At first it had been like any other time you wanted to indulge yourself and bask in the feeling of cool, solid glass slipping inside of you, so deep you swore you could reach into your mouth and feel it poking at your tonsils. Now, this was the farthest from fun you'd ever experienced. Your hips hung limp at unnatural angles, dislocated from your pelvis, which was another matter entirely-broken apart by the sheer size of the icy and unyielding creature.

You could feel it scraping against your spine each time you shifted, could feel your organs grotesquely mashed against your ribs and musculature, your ribcage expanded like a balloon. With each futile struggle your dying body gave, the ridges of your spine ripped further into the soft flesh between the creature's insertion and your bones. Darkness slipped around the edges of your vision and you realized with a horrible start that it was beginning to probe at your face and the orfices there.

It had already exhausted every possible point of entry between your legs, crushing its way into your intestines and urethra. Now it began to probe at the corners of your eyes, where the bridge of your nose met your ocular sockets. It pushed at your jaw where your mouth hung open in pained sobbing. You'd puked, and could feel it rubbing the bile into your tastebuds as it began its conquest of your mouth and throat. With shaking hands you reached up and tried to pull it from your face, scrabbled at the hard, unyielding surface that you supposed was its skin. Your nails caught on fissures in the stony armor and broke, ripping off cleanly one by one as you continued scrabbling at it.

It sped up its ministrations, pushing deeper into your gut and puncturing clean through the walls of your bladder as it simultaneously shoved into your throat. You could feel the stretch of your throat, the horrible pressure on your voicebox, the terrifying feeling of it splitting the appendage in your throat in two so that it could sink itself into your stomach and your lungs. This thing had no care for you. It was going to use you and destroy you.

You couldn't breathe, your throat and entire body spasming as you tried and failed to suck in even a single atom of a breath. The darkness slipping around your eyes wasn't just the creature's probing limbs anymore, it was static shadows that swirled and rippled in your vision as it began to press into the corners of your eyes, slipping in and under with ease. The pain was incomprehensible, feeling it bore into the very backs of your eye sockets to rip out your optical nerves and press into your brain by invading the soft tissue that had once cradled the nerves that allowed you sight.

The appendage probing into your stomach collided with the one pressing up into you through your intestines, and you felt several layers of tissue rip as the two meshed into one singularity, pressing all the way through you from your mouth to your anus. You were beginning to lose consciousness, the pain fading to the background and true darkness overtaking your vision. Before you were allowed the bliss of death, it had one more surprise in store for you. All of a sudden, the crushing fullness was gone.

It removed itself from every part of you that it had invaded, and began to fold your pliant body like bread dough. Bones crunched and tendons snapped, and with a final weak cry, the life you'd been clinging so desperately to fled your body hastily.


	2. Chapter 2

Prompt Two: Cold Teeth

Same Coworker requested another chapter. Back for more it seems, even after dry heaving once finished reading the first. Who am I to turn them away, hmm? 

Especially when I'm getting such amusement from their reactions.

Plotline #7 this time, lucky number of mine and a particularly vile plot at that.

Time isn't really measurable here, not in any way that would serve to keep you sane. It's dark and cold here. The air is cool enough that a single drop of your blood steams like boiling water. You've been here for a while and you're not entirely sure anymore of even that fact. A few minutes could've passed for all you know.

It blinded you first, striking so quickly you couldn't even see what it was before your sight was gone. You didn't know if there was one of it or dozens, whether or not the scything claws that neatly separated your limbs at the middle joint were belonging to the creature gnawing into your body by way of your hip. It was methodical, whatever it was, whether there were many or just one. Shallow cuts no worse than a papercut would mark the incision points before those horribly cold claws returned and cut through flesh and muscle.

You felt like a child's toy, made to be taken apart at the joints and thrown away once you'd served your entertainment purposes. The terrifying thing was that it would occasionally try to put your limbs back on, and all of a sudden you could feel the rotting, liquefying flesh pressing against open wounds. There were no words for the horrifying experience of feeling your own dismembered hand glance across your exposed chest with razor sharp fangs trailing in its wake.

It grew bored quickly, or perhaps it had toyed with you for days and days and was only now switching up its methods. Your limbs were mashed, the bone removed and the marrow hollowed out. It pulped the marrow and flesh together, forming the vile mush into small portions that you ate unwillingly. Claws stretched your jaw open and pinched off your nose, forcing you to consume the mess it offered you. 

It began cradling your face with your own hands, moving you around with your own dismembered body parts. When you got fitful bouts of sleep, you woke to it cradling you with rotting arms, from you or the last victim you weren't sure. 

Heh. Last victim. How did you know it hadn't waited for you? How did you know it wasn't a shapeshifter? Why had you already given up.

Pain clouded your mind and eventually, you couldn't feel the stubs of your arms or your thighs. You knew (did you) that your wounds had begun to rot just like the parts of you it had already taken. (were they really rotting?) You screamed when it removed the numb flesh (did you? could it even hear you? could you even hear you?) and when it began to slip parts of itself into the wounds you squirmed. (you thought you did. maybe you just stayed still and let it have its way)

It didn't make any noise. It didn't smell like anything. All you knew of it was cold. Cold fangs, cold claws, cold cold cold, freezing against your sensitive skin and your exposed organs. (huh?)

(when did it open you up? do you remember? maybe it didn't, maybe the cold has reached deep under your skin with its icy teeth)

The methodical cuts returned. Your hips were marked and then your shoulders. You were a worm now (yes, a worm. good for nothing but food, yes. you were a worm) and it continued to feed you back your removed flesh. (or did it? was it feeding you? were you eating? you never felt hungry so you supposed you were) It methodically removed your ears, all the inner pieces and the connections to your brain. (maybe it didn't. maybe you were just loosing your hearing to the cold)

You felt warm. The pain was coming back to you now and you could see again. But you weren't you anymore. You were sitting in some sort of cavern, soft and muscular. Acidic fluid sloshed around your feet. (your feet?)

There was something in the liquid beside you. It was organic and it was mushy. Like a peach left out too long, it gave with horrible ease under your touch. (your touch? you had your hands?) Your fingertips came back red. Not the kind of red you see on apples or raspberries, but the kind of red you see when you slice into flesh. The red that you remembered pouring from your wrists back then. (your wrists? you had them?)

You turned it over. It moved easily, effortlessly, as if it was nothing but a shell. (a shell, a shed skin?) It looked wrong somehow but familiar. You recoiled with a gasp when you recognized a pattern of freckles on a half-dissolved patch. This tumbling doll lying here rotting in the belly of some horrid monstrosity was you. 


End file.
